


Glow

by unrealkinkster (criticalkink)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series) RPF
Genre: Breeding Kink, M/M, Not Actually Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-10-17 14:52:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17562560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/criticalkink/pseuds/unrealkinkster
Summary: For the prompt: I need Sam barebacking Liam, calling Liam his gorgeous wife, and telling him how he's going to seed Liam to bear his child, and Liam 100% into it.





	1. Friday: Glow

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on the kmeme [here](https://criticalkink.dreamwidth.org/972.html?thread=421836#cmt421836).

Liam’s the special kind of wired-tired where he’s not sleepy, but he’s kind of out of it. Sam’s spooned around him, one hand on Liam’s belly; they’re both still fully dressed, the need to unpack for the impending con not as great as the need to test the bed for snuggle quality.   
  
Sam’s hand is rubbing circles around his navel, rumpling his t-shirt a little more each time, drawing it up until his fingers are touching bare skin more often than not.   
  
It seems only logical, then, that the next thing out of Sam’s mouth is, “We should have a baby.”   
  
No. Wait. Not logical. What’s the other one?  _Weird as fuck_ , that’s it.   
  
But the way he says it is the way he says  _we should actually try 69ing instead of just laughing at the number_  or  _we should borrow the straitjacket from the Madness shoot_ , and so Liam does not laugh, responding with: “Okay, sure. Who’s going to be the mom?”   
  
“You, my gorgeous wife,” Sam says, snuggling closer. Liam can feel him hard and pushing through their respective jeans to press against his ass. “I’m going to get your tight cunt all wet and then fill you up with my come... you’ll have the prettiest glow, love...”   
  
_Fuck_. Liam doesn’t have a verbal response to that, only a full-body shiver of arousal that makes Sam laugh softly.  
  
“You like the sound of that, Mrs O’Riegel? Being full of my seed, being bred, being the next one to add to our precious family?”   
  
Taken a little at a time, it’s ridiculous. The whole idea spilled into Liam’s mind at once, though, ah. That’s different.   
  
“You know I love your cock in my pussy,” he says, pitching his voice towards the feminine. “I’d be honoured.”   
  
Sam kisses the back of his neck. “That’s my good little woman,” he says. “Thank you.”   
  
“Don’t thank me yet,” Liam murmurs. “At least wait until you’ve planted your seed in me.” He puts his hand over Sam’s on his stomach. “Which I hope you plan on doing very soon.”   
  
The next noise Sam makes is a cross between a sigh of relief and a deep groan of need.  
  
Sam moves to sit up against the head of the bed and Liam nestles against him, leaning back into him with a sigh, feeling Sam’s hands start roaming his chest, easing up under his t-shirt and rubbing his belly as well.   
  
“You’re going to be even more beautiful,” Sam tells him, and Liam can believe it; Sam’s touch feels more reverent than anything else. “So gorgeous, you’ll be  _glowing_...”   
  
“Get on with it then,” Liam says, and he’s not surprised when Sam laughs at his impatience.   
  
“What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t make sure my woman was  _thoroughly_  turned on?” He gets Liam’s t-shirt off, sheds his own, and as always bare skin on bare skin feels so much  _better_. Sam starts kissing the side and back of Liam’s neck as he’s still  _fondling_  (and God that’s a weird word to think but it seems to be the only right one) Liam’s chest, teasing his nipples with rough little pinches that draw soft whimpers out of Liam’s mouth.  
  
“Husband mine, do I ever get to touch you as well, or is this a one-way street?” Liam asks.   
  
Sam laughs. “Sorry, I didn’t realise I was neglecting your need to grope me.”   
  
Liam shifts to sit astride Sam’s lap, cupping his face in both hands to kiss him long and deep. Sam’s hands are restless on his skin, and he can feel how hard Sam is even through two layers of denim and, probably, Superman boxers or whatever Sam’s got on. His analysis of the situation is rapidly shifting from  _weird as fuck_  to  _weird as fuck but also strangely hot_.   
  
With a lot of wriggling and gratuitous groping, he works his way down to get Sam’s jeans open—Spiderman, not Superman, but he was close—and take Sam into his mouth, licking at the head of his cock, rolling his tongue over it like ice cream. Sam leans back and lets him do it, but only for a minute or so.  
  
“I’m not wasting my come on your pretty mouth this time,” he says softly. “Take your pants off for me, darling, let me see how wet I can get your pussy.”   
  
Liam can feel his cheeks turn pink as he strips off completely and hesitates before lying down.   
  
“On your back,” Sam says. “I want to watch your face while I fill you up.” He’s pulled a travel bottle of lube out of his jeans pocket; it makes Liam wonder just how long he’s been thinking about this,  _conceiving_  this plan.  
  
Liam settles on his back and spreads his thighs; Sam slips a pillow under his ass, lifting it up, and although it’s not like they haven’t been in this exact position before somehow it’s  _different_ , with Sam looking down at him, eyes unreadable. Liam’s half expecting Sam to start laughing and tell him he’s played along well but it’s over and then blow him (Sam gives head as enthusiastically and well as everything else he does with his mouth).   
  
But that’s not what happens. Instead, Sam coats most of his hand in lube, wiping the excess off almost carelessly against Liam’s ass, around his—well—  
  
“Your pussy’s already pretty wet, darling... do you like hearing about what I’m going to do to you?” He rubs his fingers against Liam’s heat, eliciting a shiver from him.   
  
“Yes, I do,” Liam says softly. “But I’d rather feel you doing it, not just talking about it.” He lifts his hips a little more, pushing against Sam’s fingers. “Come on, husband mine... get my cunt ready for your come.”   
  
Sam shivers with something dark and unspoken and plunges two fingers inside Liam, moving them not the way he usually would but with a speed and rhythm different enough for Liam to  _know_  that as far as Sam’s concerned his fingers are working second knuckle deep inside Liam’s pussy, not his ass at all. It makes him gasp for breath and Sam croons, “There’s my good girl,” and Liam  _whines_ , bucking against his lover’s hand.  
  
He feels so open, so vulnerable, with Sam kneeling over him, an unwontedly serious expression on his face as his fingers work their magic. Sam’s cock is hard, trailing a little smear of pre-come against his belly, and it makes Liam’s mouth go dry just looking at it. He licks his lips, then runs his finger through the clear fluid and licks  _that_ , and Sam closes his eyes briefly.   
  
“Behave, dearest... we can’t make a baby if you keep teasing like that, I’ll just make a mess on you.”   
  
“You’ve made messes on me before,” Liam says.   
  
“Not this time.” Sam leans a little harder into him, and Liam feels a third finger press inside him. Sam doesn’t stop at the second knuckle this time, either, pushing in all the way until his fingers are buried inside Liam, his thumb brushing along the base of Liam’s cock almost as an afterthought. “This time every drop goes into you.” His eyes are dark; his voice is going dark as well. “And next time... and the time after... until I’m  _sure_.” He puts his other hand on Liam’s belly.   
  
“Come  _on_ , Sammy,” Liam whines softly. “Stop talking about it and  _do_  it.”  
  
Sam only backs off when Liam’s moaning pretty much continuously and trying to fuck himself on Sam’s fingers, which because Sam is very good at what he does and knows his way around Liam’s body is maybe two minutes later. Liam’s vaguely aware of him arranging something on the shelf beside the bed, next to the unplugged alarm clock (they use their phones, ever since being shaken from sleep one 3AM by blaring talk radio) and ignored cheap Bible (except for where Sam has written _it us_ next to the bit in Romans about men burning with desire toward one another).   
  
But then Sam’s  _on_  him, pushing his legs further apart, the marginally cooler touch of the fresh lube he’s slicked over his cock a different touch against Liam’s thigh. Liam reaches for him and Sam comes to him, pushes into him like so many other times before, slow and hard and with his eyes locked on Liam’s.   
  
“That’s more like it,” Liam says, a gasp in his voice.   
  
“Mmmm.” Sam holds back another moment, until Liam makes an indignant noise, and then starts moving. Still slow. He leans down, kisses Liam’s mouth. “Feels so good making love to you,” he murmurs, and Liam’s pretty damn sure that’s not just part of the bit, that it’s from the heart instead of wherever the fuck it is Sam’s conjured this scenario from.   
  
“You better knock me up so we have something to show for it,” is what comes out of his own mouth by way of response, and Sam  _groans_  and grinds against him.  
  
Liam’s hands flutter around Sam’s head and shoulders, wanting to pull him down for another kiss, but also not wanting to lose the way Sam’s looking at him, eyes gone dark as he fucks Liam almost methodically, driving deep into him and then  _not_  pulling all the way back out, but making small controlled movements with his hips.   
  
“Fuck, Sammy—” Liam’s teeth are gritted. “You can move more than that.”   
  
“You know I can’t, babe,” Sam says softly. “We don’t want to run the risk of spilling any of this seed where it might go to waste, do we? No. No, I want you to quicken as soon as possible; I want you showing, so everyone can see how beautiful you look carrying our child.”   
  
_Why the fuck is this not absurd?_  
  
Liam’s hands stop drifting aimlessly and move to his own chest, doing what they can to cup and lift his pecs, thumbs rolling over the nipples. Sam makes an almost  _savage_  noise, watching him do it; Liam tucks that potential away in his mind for later.  
  
“Trying is half the fun,” he reminds Sam.   
  
“I’m glad you think that.” Sam’s hips keep doing those small sharp movements and Liam thinks either it’s not going to be enough and he’s going to be frustrated, leaking pre-come against his own stomach, but unfulfilled—or he’s going to come first and milk Sam’s come out of him, deep inside, deep where Sam wants it, where they  _both_  want it. “Because we’re going to keep trying until it takes.”  
  
Liam trails one hand from his chest down to his belly, resting it over his navel. “Right here, Sammy,” he says, “in a few months’ time, people will  _see_ , they’ll  _know_ —”   
  
“Jesusfuckin’christ,” Sam says, all one word, and Liam feels his release, feels the hot pulse as he’s seeded. Liam reaches for his own cock, needing just a little more, and Sam pushes his hand aside.   
  
“Hold on... I’ll take care of you.” He pulls out slow and careful, leans over to snag something off the shelf, and Liam has just enough time to see the thick plug in Sam’s hand before Sam’s pushing it into him. “Just a little extra something to keep you aware of what’s at stake here,” he says, easing himself down onto his stomach between Liam’s spread thighs.   
  
“I don’t want to lose one drop... want to keep it all right here in my cunt,” Liam says soft and deliberate. He knows he’s got it right when Sam groans like he’s already on the verge of coming again and practically  _inhales_  Liam’s cock.   
  
When Liam bucks up into the familiar heat of Sam’s mouth he can feel the plug shifting wetly inside him; then Sam’s fingers are on it, twisting and pushing and  _fuck_ , he has far too good a grasp on Liam’s anatomy (so to speak) than is really fair in their current states of mind.  
  
His own come goes nowhere but straight down Sam’s flexing throat.   
  
*  
  
“How will you know if it’s worked or not?” he asks some minutes later, when they’ve cleaned up somewhat—his ass plugged full of come notwithstanding.   
  
Sam spoons around him, a protective hand on Liam’s belly. “Same way I knew you were ready to breed, silly; your scent changes when you’re fertile.” He’s got his face pressed against Liam’s neck, which is probably for the best; Liam doesn’t  _quite_  maintain a straight face at that. Maybe Sam’s been at Travis’s copy of  _Twilight_  or something.   
  
Sam’s hand meanders briefly up to Liam’s chest, giving one nipple a light pinch. “These will get more sensitive...” He laughs when Liam lets out a sleepy whine. “I know they already are, but there’ll be more to come.”   
  
“Maybe sooner than you think,” Liam says, a half-formed idea coming to mind, solidifying when for the first time all night the noise Sam makes says that  _he’s_  the surprised one.   
  
“We should get some sleep. We have a big weekend ahead of us.” Sam’s voice has a hint of amusement in it, as it pretty much always does, but mostly he sounds tired. Liam can’t blame him; all the stages of fatherhood are tiring, even the fun ones.   
  
Liam texts Q:  _our man is safe and sound_. Sam texts Amy:  _help me he’s throwing pillows_. Then they settle in for the night.   
  
“Clean up when you gotta,” Sam murmurs last thing.   
  
“Mmmm... love you, Sammy.” Liam drifts into sleep with his husband’s hand on his belly.


	2. Saturday: Radiant

Liam has to abbreviate his usual run on Saturday morning, partly because they have limited hours in the day to themselves where there’s not a panel or signing schedule, partly because he has a particular purchase that he wants to make along the way, and partly because he was rash enough to think he could jog more than about three minutes with a reasonably sized plug in his ass.  
  
He gets back to the hotel room, where Sam’s already gone out to breakfast. This is only to be expected; Sam has an early panel with Jennifer and Mary Elizabeth, and if he doesn’t get caffeine in his system he’ll probably wind up saying something idiotic about being the filling in a cougar sandwich.  
  
Although he might say that even  _with_  caffeine.  
  
Liam takes care of his bathroom business faster than usual, although not without being thorough: the reality of spending a night plugged full of Sam’s come is that there’s a lot of cleanup involved, for which he blesses the existence of detachable shower heads.  
  
Naked and still a little damp, he checks the time and chugs a quick protein shake before stretching out on the bed and opening the bag he got at the sex shop. God bless the subsidiaries of the oldest profession in the world for being open 24/7.  
  
He has been curious about nipple pumping before. Not cock pumping; as far as he and his partners are concerned he’s quite all right in that department. But increased sensitivity seems like fun—and like something that’ll play right into Sam’s fantasy.  
  
In the light of day, it should seem ridiculous.  
  
In the light of day, or at least the light of the very much locked, do-not-disturb-signed, curtains-closed hotel room, Liam puts the first pump in place. Oh—a touch of lube is required to help it seal to his skin, and he’s left that in the bathroom after putting the plug back in. He runs his tongue around the rim instead, imagining Sam watching him, and feels his cock twitch.  
  
The pumps are slender screw-topped cylinders that look as though they should be hanging in some medieval flagellary if not for the fact that they’re plastic. He’s seen bigger ones before that people use for cupping. The circumference of these is such that he can set the mouth of one over his right nipple, chin tucked almost to his chest to watch what he’s doing. A cautious turn of the screw, and he can both feel and see the suction working. It brings his nipple to a taut brown peak, and the sensation makes him hum softly with pleasure.  
  
What makes Liam particularly giddy about it is that Sam’s going to  _love_  this. Even if it doesn’t work particularly well, Sam’s going to love that he made the effort.  
  
He turns the screw a little further and feels the suction intensify, a more insistent pull at his skin. The image of Sam’s mouth there, sucking, draws another soft sound out of him. A little further and suddenly it’s bordering on pain; Liam hastily releases the pressure and pulls the pump away to examine his handiwork. His right nipple is definitely harder than the left, drawn up by the suction to an extent that simple arousal can’t quite reach. The areola has gone rosy-radiant, making it a tempting tidbit. He pinches it lightly, experimentally, and the noise that comes out of his mouth surprises him.  
  
He knows from his hasty cram session on his phone before setting off on his run that this won’t last terribly long, but he has thoughts on how to deal with that. He puts that pump back in place, wetting it again with saliva, and tightens it until it’s holding firm, a constant pull of sensation. Half expecting it to fall, he takes his hand away and is pleased when it stays. Though he’s sure he looks silly with it there—although he hasn’t pushed it nearly as far as some of the pictures he’s seen—it’s a nice tugging weight.  
  
Liam repeats the treatment on his left nipple, closing his eyes when both small peaks feel more sensitive and tender, putting his hands under his pecs and squeezing lightly. It’s not going to be even close to a realistic substitute for the full, heavy breasts of a woman at any stage of her pregnancy, but since literally no other part of his body is either and they’ve already had one pretty damn fantastic night playing at this game working with what he’s got, it’ll do.  
  
Having the plug in and the pumps on makes him feel a little like he’s modifying his body for Sam’s pleasure. It’s an idle thought, but a powerful one. There are ideas he has sometimes; nothing permanent, but certainly something a little more visible than the bites Sam sometimes leaves on him.  
  
As well as that, playing around has made him all the way hard, and he does have a little more time before his first commitment of the day. He moves his hand to his cock—and then stops. While getting off now would certainly be fun, he thinks his husband would appreciate his self-control more; there’s no guarantee that he’ll be able to come again tonight, as neither of them are in their teens any more.  
  
(Occasionally he wonders how things would have worked out if they  _had_  met in their teens. He imagines that first and foremost they would have both had to have surgery for RSI by their early twenties.)  
  
Liam reluctantly loosens the pumps and slides them off, whimpering softly at the pressure change, unable to resist pinching his nipples once they’re freed. They look darker, fuller, and while he knows the effect will fade soon, he’s got a plan.  
  
Getting dressed takes a good deal of willpower, particularly to arrange his hard cock in his boxers and jeans without it being obvious that he’s nursing a hell of a hard-on. When his t-shirt fabric grazes over his chest it makes his knees go weak. He tidies up after himself, sticking the pumps in his suitcase where Sam won’t look unless he’s stealing socks, and by the time he’s ready to go his body has settled down a little.  
  
*  
  
A few of the people who get photos with him comment on how radiant his smile is and he stores that one up to mention to Sam later. He’s sure his husband will appreciate the news about his already present glow.  
  
*  
  
He gets two more chances to pump during the day, once on what should be his lunch break and once late in the afternoon, before he’s scheduled to have dinner with a bunch of VIP congoers and then go watch Bonnie and Xander perform.  
  
That last time is what nearly does him in; each time he pumps it’s more intense and he feels like the effects linger longer, and each time he does it he gets damnably hard again.  
  
His phone buzzes on the nightstand.  
  
_Where do you keep disappearing to?_  
  
_Just playing with myself_ , Liam texts back with complete honesty.  
  
_It’s that change in hormone levels. You’re ready for me to have you again, aren’t you?_  
  
Sometimes he can’t quite tell how much is Sam doing a bit and how much is Sam calculating whether or not he can fake some temporary yet dire illness to get himself off the con floor and onto Liam.   
  
_Very ready_ , he confirms anyway.  _I wish I didn’t have to wait_.  
  
There’s a silence from the phone, long enough for Liam to decide that having the suction on the pumps twisted up to just short of painful is actually quite arousing in its own right, before:  _Show me_.  
  
They don’t do the dick pic thing all that often, mainly because accidentally sending it to the group chat is an all too possible event, and also because it doesn’t really seem like all that sexy a thing to do. But Liam doesn’t even hesitate this time, snapping a picture of his hand fisted around his length, pre-come dripping from his cockhead, his thumb covered in it.  
  
_Wet for me_ , Sam observes.  _How much do you want to come?_  
  
_So much_.  
  
_Can you wait until later for me?_  
  
_Yeah_.  
  
_That’s my good little woman_.  
  
Liam almost comes anyway at that. He can imagine the twist to Sam’s lips as he types and the way Sam slowly licks them at him sometimes. Dragging himself off the bed to the bathroom is a trial, and holding a cold wet washcloth against his cock to calm it the fuck down is pure torture, but this time is about Sam’s fantasy and desires, so he’ll do what he’s told.

*

Dinner is easier to get through than Liam had been anticipating, thanks to the lively company and array of Critters, gamers, and assorted other fans. The concert afterward is likewise fun; he’s glad of that, because he’d feel awful sitting there just wanting to be back in the room while his friends are performing.  
  
However, when the concert ends and the karaoke machine gets switched on, Liam catches Sam’s eye across the room. As soon as his husband nods, Liam sidles out of the room. As far as he can tell nobody notices because they’re all focused on the parody version of “Royals” that Bonnie seems to be making up on the spot. He catches “we’ll never post spoilers (spoilers); we’ll nip that shit in the bud” and laughs as he crosses to the elevator.  
  
He’s alone on the ride up, drumming his plastic room card against his fingers, shifting from foot to foot, feeling the nudge of the plug inside him that he had almost forgotten about for a couple of hours. Now, of course, he can’t think of anything else—aside from having it removed and replaced by Sam’s cock.  
  
Liam’s been back in the room for all of three minutes, only the nightstand lamp on giving the room a low, pleasing radiance, when the door opens again.  
  
“I thought you’d wait at least ten,” he manages to say before he’s flat on his back on the bed and Sam’s tongue is in his mouth. When Sam’s hand lands on his chest he shivers with pleasure as Sam finds one extra-sensitive nipple and squeezes lightly.  
  
“What did you do?” Sam demands. “Did you pump them, or what?”  
  
“Yes, I—” But Sam’s mouth is devouring his again and all Liam can do is go along with it.  
  
“You spoil me,” Sam says next, and then, “I could see them through your t-shirt,” and although Liam thinks this might be partly Sam’s imagination, when Sam yanks said t-shirt off he can see that yes, his nipples have stayed harder and darker this time from the repeated play. Perhaps they were visible through the thin fabric after all.  
  
Then Sam’s sucking on one, teasing the other with his fingers, and Liam groans with pleasure, arching against Sam’s mouth. He retains enough presence of mind to start unbuttoning Sam’s shirt, and it’s when Sam’s bare-chested as well that he can really see the difference that the pumps have made. Not that they’re usually identical, but it’s not like he’s never noted points of comparison.  
  
“Can I watch you do it?” Sam asks.  
  
Liam feels his face go red. It’s not like he hadn’t expected this, but he still feels like he’s going to look stupid. Still, he gets as far as placing one pump over his left nipple when Sam’s hands close over his.  
  
“Sam?”  
  
“Do you trust me not to hurt you?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Sam turns the screw slowly, drawing Liam’s flesh bit by bit into the cylinder, watching it with avid eyes. When Liam lets out a little hiss he stops instantly.  
  
“Too much?”  
  
“No, it’s okay… the suction feels good.”  
  
Sam keeps going, stopping again perhaps a quarter-turn before Liam would have, and tugs lightly on the pump. Liam gasps, cock twitching in his jeans. Sam leaves that pump in place and starts on the right-hand side, this time dialing up the pressure even more slowly, until Liam whimpers softly and asks him for more.  
  
The pumps cling in place as Sam rolls him over and brings him to his hands and knees. Liam’s privately not sure how long he can hold this position, but as Sam rapidly drags both their jeans down and tugs the plug unceremoniously out of Liam’s ass, he also doesn’t think he’ll  _need_  to hold it long.  
  
Sam still fingers him thoroughly, though Liam can feel the need coming off him in waves; he feels almost too wet and open by the time Sam’s done, but when Sam pushes into him he remembers, and says, “ _God_ , yes… my pussy’s been aching for you all day.”  
  
“That’s my girl,” Sam says, words coming out clipped as he grips Liam’s hips, fucking him with a firm slowness that draws a frustrated noise out of Liam. He tries to push back against Sam for more but Sam holds him in place. “Steady, now. Do you really want this to be over so fast?”  
  
“Nnnneh,” Liam admits, bracing himself a little more firmly.  
  
Sam reaches under him and releases the pumps. When his hands cup Liam’s chest, thumbs teasing over the swollen peaks, Liam makes an even less coherent noise and nearly loses his balance. He can feel Sam’s body shaking with the effort of holding the position and lowers himself to his elbows. It doesn’t give Sam  _as_  much room to play with his chest but he doesn’t really need it; Liam’s nipples are so sensitive at this point that the smallest graze is enough to send pleasure arcing through him.   
  
Sam folds himself over Liam’s back and quickens his pace, and for a few minutes the room is filled with the sound of skin on skin, Liam’s soft gasps and whimpers, and Sam’s mingled curses and endearments murmured into the nape of Liam’s neck.   
  
“So—fucking—good—my—pretty—wife—”  
  
Liam shudders on his elbows and knees, unable to voice his own pleasure in anything other than pure wordless sound. He guesses that Sam can figure it out when he feels himself come hard enough to spatter Sam’s fingers where they’re still on Liam’s chest.  
  
Sam lets out an inarticulate noise of his own and Liam feels the slow pulse as Sam comes inside him; just in time, too, for his arms are trembling with the strain. That, though, is something he has ideas about changing tomorrow night.  
  
The plug pushes back into him and then Sam’s easing him onto his side, taking one look at his come-spattered belly and chest (as well as the blanket) and going for a warm wet washcloth. He wipes Liam clean from groin to sternum, kissing each spot after he blots it and in some cases licking it  _before_  he blots it. When he gets to Liam’s chest he sucks each nipple clean whether it needs it or not, eyes closing, and Liam lets out two long sighs.  
  
“You were right; that change did come faster than we expected,” Sam says, as though Liam’s body is doing this all on its own and the twin plastic cylinders, which have rolled almost to the edge of the bed with all the movement of the mattress, had nothing to do with it.  
  
Liam gives him a coquettish look. “It’s because your seed’s so powerful, husband mine,” he says, and while Sam’s mouth only turns into the smallest paternal smile, Liam can see a gigglefit lurking in his dark eyes.  
  
“It makes me wonder what else we’ll see.” Sam scoops up the pumps to set them on the nightstand, wipes fruitlessly at the mess on the blanket, and gives up. He drops a towel over it instead before lying back down, pulling Liam close. “What other surprises might come of this.”  
  
If Liam didn’t know Sam better, he’d think Sam  _had_  been into the bag from the store after all. Sam doesn’t have that sort of look on his face, though; it seems his speculation is of the purely idle sort.  
  
“There might be something more,” he says, just because driving Sam crazy wondering is one of his favorite things, and the hungry look on Sam’s face is  _so_  rewarding. “We’ll have to wait and see.”  
  
Sam slides one hand between them to press it over Liam’s stomach. “Some of this will require more waiting than other things.”  
  
“But think of how happy Laura and Travis will be to know their Critter baby is going to have a companion.”  
  
Sam’s startled into an even wider grin. “I didn’t even think of that!” It’s not like any of them have forgotten that Laura’s pregnant, considering she’s currently consuming her own weight in donuts and pickles daily, but so far the news is only out to a small circle of people, and so it can be pushed to the back of one’s mind. Apparently even more so if one is trying to get one’s husband-wife fantasy pregnant.  
  
They both go quiet for a moment as reality intrudes on their fantasy; while the Bailingham baby is a certainty, there won’t be a companion made by them for it, and the thought is sobering. But then Sam shakes it off, recovers his usual brightness, and asks, “Do you think it’s too early to consider names?”  
  
“I think we’d be doing the world a disservice if we didn’t at least  _consider_  honoring the game with the names.”  
  
They reach for their phones as they begin pondering ideas. Sam texts Amy:  _Liam has been kidnapped by a squadron of Keyleth cosplayers_  (to which she responds,  _they’ll give him back when they realize he’s higher maintenance than Vax_ ). Liam texts Q:  _Sam got hit over the head with programs by Mary Elizabeth and Jennifer but I don’t think there’s any damage_  (to which she responds,  _oh honey, you know he came pre-damaged_ ).  
  
By the time they’ve determined that the baby’s name should at  _minimum_  be Lady Baron Vax-Vex-Vix-Vox-Vux de Rolo Gilmore Poobah Monstah Shorthalt of the Air Ashari—regardless of gender—Liam’s turned out the light and their voices drift back and forth in the dark, until Liam proposes they add  _of Whitestone_  in there somewhere as well and is met only with a soft snore.


	3. Sunday: Shiny

Liam’s up first on Sunday morning and once again cuts his run short, this time with the intention of getting back and showered before Sam even drags himself out of bed. It’s not that Sam’s not perfectly capable of rising and shining when it’s called for at a con—especially when there’s breakfast on offer—but his kids are still young enough that the opportunity to sleep in, when it presents itself, is never turned down.  
  
Aside from that, Sam looks peaceful. Sometimes he’s mouth-gaping and snoring, and Liam loves him then; right now he’s just breathing quietly, not a snore to be heard, and Liam loves him now.  
  
He takes the pumps into the bathroom, wears them while he showers, the pull of the suction given extra warmth by the water. He takes them off when he towels off and sets them out on a washcloth to air dry; he doesn’t  _think_  any water got inside but it can’t hurt to be sure. Digging into the bag from the sex shop again, he finds the next thing that he bought: hip-hugging shiny green satin underwear trimmed with lace. Miles away from his usual choice of undergarment. Liam’s reasonably sure that flashing Sam a peek or two at these is going to either turn him on beyond reason, or end with Sam rolling on the floor in fits of laughter and Liam’s face red as raspberries.  
  
Making sure he’s thoroughly dry, Liam steps into the unfamiliar underwear. They fit him rather well, save for the obvious bulge at the front. His jeans are next, before he takes up the razor to shave. Nothing is particularly pressing him to be scruffy at the moment, and he thinks as Sam’s wife it’s only fair to be clean-shaven. Not everywhere, though; he’s done that before and the prickle of the regrowth is just not worth it.  
  
“Honey, are you almost done? I need to pee.”  
  
Liam finishes up, blots a single dot of blood from his chin, and steps out into the bedroom. “All yours, darling.”  
  
Sam kisses him briefly in passing, eyeing him appreciatively: apparently being barefoot and shirtless in only jeans suits him. That and his still-hard nipples. Then Sam remembers his need to pee and closes the door behind himself. They’ve done all sorts of things with and to one another, but it’s still nice to maintain some semblance of privacy at times.  
  
Liam finishes dressing, putting on a Decemberists t-shirt that, while not  _actually_  white, still shows off his dark hard nipples more than a black one would. They’ll be less noticeable within an hour or so, but he’ll just do like he did yesterday and use the pumps again whenever he gets the chance.  
  
He calls home in this rare moment of quiet just to check in on his family; the phone gets passed around the breakfast table and by the end of the call he has warm fuzzy feelings and also a request to check the dealers’ hall for several minis.   
  
“Are you really going out there like that?” Sam asks when he’s done.  
  
Liam looks down at himself. “I was planning to put on shoes…”  
  
Sam plants a hand on this chest, flicks a thumb over Liam’s nipple, and Liam lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak. “You’d better be careful.” His tone is possessive, and so is the arm that slips around Liam’s waist. “There might be men out there who can’t keep their eyes off you… or more than their eyes.” He pulls Liam close against him. “Nobody else is getting their hands on  _my_  wife,” he adds, and Liam actually goes a little weak at the knees when they kiss.  
  
“I wish you could put a ring on it,” he says, mouth still half on Sam’s.  
  
“Darling, if only I could.”  
  
*  
  
Their schedules have them more or less apart for most of the day—signings don’t count as there is  _zero_  privacy—aside from a Critical Role panel in the afternoon that’s going to be livestreamed on Twitch, for which Mary will be joining them, exponentially increasing the chance of innuendo.  
  
This means that when Liam gets up from the breakfast table he makes a point of stretching so the hem of his t-shirt rides up and hitches his jeans back up over the hint of green at his waist. He doesn’t need to be looking at Sam to know Sam’s watching the movement of his hands, but he is; Sam’s eyes go wide and there’s clearly something ticking over in his mind, but before he can blurt anything out Liam leaves the table.  
  
His phone buzzes not thirty seconds later.   
  
 _What are you up to?  
  
Hitting the dealers’ hall before I have to sit and sign for two hours.  
  
Not what I meant.  
  
Do you need any minis?  
  
LIAM  
  
Just clarify for me, is that a no?  
  
ASSHOLE  
  
I don’t think they have asshole minis. _  
  
The thought occurs to Liam a minute later that he should  _not_  have googled “asshole minis”, but by then he’s reading through Amazon reviews of a product that bills itself as a “mini anus male masturbator” with the same kind of horrified curiosity as he reads virtually any thread on Reddit. He closes the page, then reopens the browser and wipes its history. If Sam—actually, if  _anyone_ —thinks he’s got any intention of owning a chunk of poorly reviewed silicone to jerk off with, then he’ll never hear the end of it, and there are already too many things in his life that he doesn’t hear the end of.  
  
It’s impossible to browse the dealers’ hall incognito, but most people have the nous and respect to let him be. He buys a fanart print, a couple of stickers and enamel pins for the kids, and has no luck with any of the minis that they asked about. He does find a honey badger mini and promptly buys it for Brian.  
  
His volunteer handler for the day tracks him down fifteen minutes before he’s due to do signings and berates him gently the whole time she’s walking him to the signing tables for going off on his own. Liam offers her an apology and a hug, both of which she accepts before settling him in with four different colored Sharpies, a stack of prints (mostly Vax, some official Illidan art, and one rather disturbing one from Sagas where he looks barely conscious in a bathtub—still not the weirdest print he’s seen), and two bottles of water.  
  
The line is already forming and the table beside him is vacant. He can sense Sam behind him though, waiting behind the long line of temporary walling that gives the guests a way to move around the con without elbowing through the crowds.  
  
Sam predictably pops out thirty seconds after the signing is meant to start, grinning enormously, getting a laugh from the line. His handler looks faux-exasperated and puts his hand firmly on Sam’s head, reaching up exaggeratedly to push Sam down into his seat.  
  
As usual they’re on adjacent tables close enough for anyone who wants signing with both of them to go easily from one to the other, but far enough apart not to touch each other, not even the idle brush of fingers while handing over a Sharpie or somesuch.  
  
This of course does not prevent Liam from doing his utmost to torment the hell out of Sam. Unnecessary stretching across the table for requested hugs to let his t-shirt ride up and flash skin and green, slipping words of innuendo into conversation that the congoers won’t pick up on but Sam will, and in a brief moment of mad genius spilling a good ounce of water down his front in an elaborate spittake to something not all that funny—just enough to make his white t-shirt cling to his skin.  
  
By the time the two hours are up and they get backstage, Sam’s riled up enough to grab Liam by the front of his shirt and slam him up against the temporary walling so hard it shudders.  
  
“You. Are.  _Evil_ ,” he says right in Liam’s face.  
  
Liam looks one way, Sam looks the other, and when they’ve established nobody else is around there’s a kiss that’s messy, teeth-clashing, and hot. Sam even gets a hand under Liam’s t-shirt, pinching his nipple, making Liam gasp into Sam’s open mouth, before Mary pulls them apart. Fortunately her handler is still on the other side of the wall, packing up the table.  
  
“You horny idiots,” she says fondly. “Either go up to your room and get this out of your systems, or calm the fuck down.”  
  
“Are you saying we’re being indiscreet?” Sam asks.  
  
“I’m saying that if you don’t untuck your shirt and use it as cover, people are going to think you’re smuggling socks down your pants.”  
  
Liam fishes Sam’s hand out of his t-shirt and tugs it down; Sam untucks his own shirt as instructed, letting the tails fall to somewhat obscure the front of his pants. Mary watches them with a critical eye. It’s not like she doesn’t know about them but Liam does wonder what specifics she saw, if any.  
  
“ _Are_  you going to go take care of this?” Mary asks with a sparkle of mischief in her eyes that suggests she’s angling for an invitation to watch.  
  
“We’re kind of… waiting,” Liam says.  
  
“In that case I’m going to take one of you to lunch, in case you forget where you are and start defiling Stan Lee’s photo booth.”  
  
“Now you’re just giving us ideas,” Sam says.  
  
Mary takes him by the ear and tugs. “Come on, you. Liam…  _behave_.”

Liam watches them disappear deeper into the maze of backstage corridors and then goes up to their room to play with his nipples.

*

Mary continues to chaperone them the rest of the day, unsubtly sitting herself between them at their shared panel. Not that that’s going to do anything for their, ah,  _reputation_ , he supposes—not if any of the Critters either in the audience or watching the livestream have listened to the hot tub episode of AWNP. Not that it’s a prerequisite to spot the energy that sparks between the three of them, even with Mary clearly  _trying_  to behave herself.  
  
It’s late enough in the day that his plug is beginning to get annoying, even considering that he gave himself a break at lunchtime and took it out for the thirty minutes he got to himself in their room. One day is fine; three days running is a lot to ask of his ass, and he’s worried Sam won’t be able to have him again tonight, that it’ll just be too much.  
  
Sam notices he’s got the wiggles and texts him, which is supposed to be a semi-official no-no and which they frequently do anyway.  
  
 _What’s wrong? Got your panties in a bunch?_  
  
 _The panties are fine_ , Liam texts back, waiting for the little choked noise that’s Sam being unsure if he should be laughing or not before adding,  _The plug’s a little irritating._  
  
 _You could have left it out. You didn’t have to keep it in all weekend._  
  
 _It’s the best way to make sure that all your hot seed stays exactly where it belongs to get me good and bred, husband._  
  
Sam fakes a coughing fit so convincing that the moderator stops talking and ducks offstage for a fresh bottle of water, leaving the three of them staring out at a sea of faces—some of which are blue or green or lavender—for thirty seconds of what would have been the equivalent of dead air had Mary not leaned into her table mic and announced, with a completely straight face, “Sorry about that, folks; Liam’s pregnant, Sam’s the father, and they’re just trying so hard not to talk about it.”  
  
Her words are met with a roar of laughter and applause. Liam stands, turns side on to the crowd, and pooches his belly out as much as he can; Mary leans her cheek against it and looks up at him in what would be an adoring manner if she weren’t mouthing  _I will kill you both_ at the same time.  
  
When Liam sits back down he slides his (locked) phone to her, and so does Sam, and with the phones confiscated and moderator returned to the stage, the panel proceeds with, if not  _no_  shenanigans, then at least slightly fewer overtly kinky ones.  
  
*  
  
Mary has her head in her hands, her elbows on the table. They’re tucked away in the corner of a Chinese restaurant, waiting for their food.  
  
“I assume that you’re not coming to the afterparty tonight,” Mary says through her wildly mussed hair. She has run her hands through it several times.  
  
“I mean, we could make it for a while,” Sam says.  
  
“You ‘making it’ is what I’m worried about.” Mary emerges from her shield of hair and hands and reaches out to them both. “Look, it’s one thing for people to make jokes on Twitter and Tumblr and wherever, but you know no matter how happy people are to  _joke_  about polyamory, if a photo gets out or something—”  
  
“I have  _literally_  said I’m in love with Sam on Talks and everyone’s  _still_  ‘oh, just gals being pals’,” Liam says. “At this point I think I could bend him over Brian’s lap and spank him and the internet would just wonder whether we learned it from Marisha or Taliesin.”  
  
“No, they’d assume it was Taliesin,” Sam says. “They assume  _everything_  is Taliesin.”  
  
“They’re usually right,” Mary says, adding a thank you as their waiter brings out a variety of dishes. Liam can’t remember what he ordered but they always end up sharing anyway.  
  
“Wouldn’t it be ‘boys being toys’?” Sam asks as he loads his plate with food.  
  
“What?” Mary and Liam ask in unison.  
  
“Instead of ‘gals being pals’.”  
  
“It absolutely would  _not_  be that. More like ‘men being “no homo”’.” Liam drops one of his chopsticks as he attempts to stab them in the air for emphasis. Sam reaches for it at the same time as he does and it’s the first time they’ve touched since the frantic kissing just before lunch. Sam gives the chopstick a little push to secure it back between Liam’s fingers, letting his fingertips trail over Liam’s knuckles, and Liam fumbles for his water, almost spilling it, struggling with a suddenly dry mouth.  
  
“Guys,  _please_  eat your dinner and try to not grope each other in the process,” Mary says and, although the cheap wooden chopsticks aren’t particularly impressive, Liam feels like she’s wielding a butcher’s knife.  
  
“We can multitask,” Sam says.  
  
“No!”  
  
*  
  
Taking an hour or so at the afterparty to wind down with friends isn’t the worst idea, no matter how much Liam’s cock disagrees with his mind. It gives them time to digest their meal, and to begin switching their brains over from con mode back to—well, he’s not sure he can say “normal” mode, considering they still have one more night to live out this fantasy—but not having to be 100% switched on and public-facing is relaxing.  
  
Bonnie starts picking out a vaguely medieval tune on her ukulele, and Xander starts dancing. Liam’s waiting for Sam to start making up lyrics, but when his gaze lands on his lover, who’s standing on the far side of the room, all he can see is the way Sam’s looking at him. For all he knows, Sam’s been staring for the last hour. He doesn’t have a drooling tongue and heart eyes, but he might as well have.  
  
Without formally excusing himself from the gathering, Liam makes his way to the door.  
  
He’s just stepping into the elevator, expecting Sam to have waited a few minutes or at least gotten caught up in the crowd trying to leave, when a warm body presses up behind his, a hand coming to rest on his belly.   
  
Fortunately they have the elevator to themselves; they’re staying at the hotel the con is being held in and the chances of a Critter walking out as they’re walking in are much higher than normal. Even as Liam swipes his keycard and hits the button for their floor, he’s anticipating someone walking up behind them and composing a Vaxlan ode on the spot.  
  
Sam lets the doors close and the elevator start moving before he takes Liam’s wrists and pins him to the wall, gently but firmly, and starts kissing him. The kisses are slow and hungry and send pleasure humming warm through Liam’s body. After a day of teasing and deprivation, not to mention walking around with his pretty green underwear going unappreciated, the contact is so very welcome.  
  
It’s almost disappointing to have to stop when the elevator does, but that’s alleviated by the fact that now they can go into their room and do all kinds of dirty things to each other without worrying about Mary emptying an ice bucket over the two of them.

*

“Show me,” Sam demands, and his fingers are already plucking at Liam’s belt as he hustles Liam toward the bed. “Show me what you’ve got on under there, you minx.”  
  
“Slow down,” Liam protests, batting Sam’s hands away and pulling his t-shirt off first, toeing his shoes off next, and then sitting on the edge of the bed to pull off his socks. “Don’t you have any sense of style?”  
  
“I do. I’m just deathly curious about  _your_  sense of style today.” Sam reaches for Liam’s belt again and Liam lies back on the bed, Sam moving to stand astride his knees as he does so. Liam tucks his hands behind his head and looks up at Sam as Sam unbuckles his belt, pops the button free, and then hesitates with his fingers on the zip.  
  
“I’m not going to mind if you laugh,” Liam says.  
  
“I don’t think I’m going to laugh,” Sam says, his voice a little strained, and he eases the zip down, spreading the rough denim wide to expose the deep green satin pulled taut across Liam’s half-hard cock.  
  
Then he just  _looks_ , long and hard, eyes roving from the triangle of shiny green up to Liam’s face, across his chest, back down again. Liam waits patiently, trying not to feel like he’s being  _examined_.  
  
“Pretty,” Sam says at last, and Liam has two seconds to think  _that’s it?_ before Sam’s body is covering his, and what went unspoken in words is clearly voiced in the hot, hungry press of Sam’s mouth against his own. Not to mention the way that Sam’s grinding against him. “Oh, my pretty little woman…”  
  
Liam grabs Sam’s ass, pulls him closer, and lets his lips dot kisses from Sam’s mouth over his cheek to his ear so that he can murmur, “It has a matching chemise.”  
  
“That’s the, uh. Top part.”  
  
“The flowy, clingy top part,” Liam agrees.  
  
Sam peels himself off Liam. “Put it on.”  
  
“You want me to shower?”  
  
Sam hesitates for a long moment. “I want to say I don’t care about con funk, but honestly… I’m more worried about me than you.”  
  
“We’ll shower together,” Liam says, rising to his feet and wriggling his jeans off. Sam’s hands go straight to his ass, cupping the satin and squeezing, and for a moment it seems like they’re going to end up right back on the bed.  
  
“I love that you did this for me.”  
  
“Hold that verdict til you see the end result,” Liam says, making quick work of Sam’s shirt buttons. “I might look like a really disturbing Tinkerbell.”  
  
“Clap your hands if you believe,” Sam says, slapping his palms lightly against Liam’s ass.  
  
Somehow they make it into and out of the shower without too much further interruption. Liam flinches when he eases the plug out, and Sam instantly looks worried.  
  
“Are you too sore?”  
  
“I’ll be fine. Promise. Just make sure you get me good and wet.”  
  
“Mmmm,” Sam says, and his hand on Liam’s elbow turns Liam to face the tiled wall. Liam has time to brace himself, shuffling his feet apart, as Sam’s tongue traces its way down Liam’s spine. Sam’s thumbs press and spread him open and Liam sighs as Sam’s tongue plays over his skin, soothing the soreness away.  
  
They dry each other off with a lot of gratuitous groping, and then Sam grabs his toothbrush. “I’ll be out in a minute, pumpkin,” he says, and Liam takes that as his cue to go put the chemise on.  
  
It fits okay, falling to mid-thigh. It’s obviously made for a different body shape than his, especially in the chest, but his nipples peak under the satin in what he hopes is an enticing way. His cock interrupts the fall of the cloth no matter how he sits or stands; in the end he just perches on the edge of the bed and waits for Sam.  
  
Sam comes out of the bathroom and just looks at him for a very long time. Since he doesn’t have anything on, not so much as a towel wrapped around his waist, Liam can see the occasional jump and twitch of his cock as Sam takes in the view. It makes him wonder what synapses are firing in his husband’s mind to produce the physiological responses, and what they are responding to.  
  
“See anything green?” he asks eventually.  
  
Sam glances at the door. It’s locked, of course; they have that routine down pat. Put out the  _Do Not Disturb_  sign, lock the door, throw the bolt if there is one, whether they plan to collapse with jetlag or fuck each other senseless.  
  
“How are you so  _pretty_ ,” he asks in a rhetorical, dreamy tone, taking Liam’s hands and pulling him to his feet. Liam goes happily, especially when the next step is Sam kissing him, hands moving slowly over his satin-clad back.  
  
“Is it the clothes or me inside the clothes?” Liam says when he has a moment.  
  
“Yes. Both. And that you wanted to look pretty for me.” Sam still sounds dreamy. His tongue traces the curve of Liam’s ear, making Liam shiver. “I want you in my lap, babe… I want you riding me.”  
  
“You’re supposed to be seeding me,” Liam protests. “Gravity won’t help.”  
  
“We don’t have to  _stay_  that way.”  
  
“In that case…” Liam turns the two of them and urges Sam onto the bed, moving to straddle his lover’s thighs. “Pass me the lube.”  
  
“Do you want me to—”  
  
“No... I know you like watching me play with myself.”  
  
He can remember the first time he did this, acting as though his attention was solely on what he was doing between his own legs, when in reality it was focused on Sam watching him. This is the same: as he fingers himself open with obscenely wet sounds, stifled whimpers escaping him as he hits a good spot or merely happens to think about why he’s doing this, he’s got an eye on Sam. Sam’s leaning back against the head of the bed, cock in one loose fist, pre-come coursing in a slow rivulet down the underside. He’s not jerking himself; he needs zero assistance staying hard even after two consecutive nights of sex and Liam wonders if it’s just years of internet bullshit that have semi-convinced him that by this stage of their lives they shouldn’t be interested in more than handshakes and hugging.  
  
His attention hasn’t wandered so far that he doesn’t notice when Sam starts touching his chest, fingers moving whisper-soft over the satin, rubbing his hard nipples through it. It draws another soft needy sound from him, and Sam lets go of his cock, gets both hands on Liam’s chest.  
  
“Oh, fuck.”  
  
“ _Yes_.” Sam pinches him and Liam moans. “Are you ready?” He tugs lightly on the lace-trimmed straps of the chemise. “Ready to come up here?” He doesn’t need to pat his lap to indicate where he means.  
  
Liam scrubs his fingers clean on a tissue and moves up, reaching under the chemise once he’s positioned over Sam’s lap to take Sam’s cock in hand and rub the head along his slick cleft. Sam’s fingers dig into his back and ass.  
  
“Tease.”  
  
“Is that a statement or a request?”  
  
“ _Fuck_ , Liam…”  
  
Liam pushes down, taking the head of Sam’s cock into himself. Sam’s eyes fall closed and his breathing quickens. Liam lets out a gasping little moan of his own and keeps moving. It stings a little, despite his preparation—and the earlier attention of Sam’s clever tongue—but not so much so that he can’t keep moving, taking Sam in bit by bit.  
  
When they’re fully locked together, Liam fluffs out the hem of the chemise a little so it hides his cock, and drapes his arms around Sam’s shoulders, leaning in to kiss the side of Sam’s neck.  
  
“Worth the tease?” he asks.  
  
“God, you feel so good.” Sam’s eyes are still closed.  
  
“It’s always good to have your thick cock filling up my hot pussy,” Liam tells him seriously, and Sam sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, biting hard to avoid breaking character.  
  
“Then ride me, sweetheart,” he says when he’s regained control. “Let me feel how wet I make you.”  
  
It’s Liam’s turn to teeter on the edge of breaking character but it’s very simple not to: as soon as he starts rocking astride Sam’s lap both of them get thoroughly distracted. Sam lets out a little “Oh-oh-oh” that would normally be funny but the way his nails dig into Liam’s ass tells him that Sam’s just feeling too much pleasure to pay any mind as to what comes out of his mouth.  
  
Before too long Sam’s hands wander around to Liam’s chest and it’s Liam’s turn to make uncontrollable noises as Sam touches him, one hand occasionally dropping down to graze over Liam’s cock through the satin draped over it. There’s quite a wet spot developing.  
  
“This color would look amazing against your ass after a spanking,” Sam says, giving Liam’s backside a rough pat.  
  
“If you try that now it’ll only make me do  _this_.” Liam begins moving his hips in short sharp jerks, and Sam gasps at the sudden change in pace.  
  
“Oh, fuck,  _oh_ —”  
  
Liam grips the headboard and maintains the rapid rhythm; Sam’s fingertips dig into his ass as he rises to meet Liam’s movements. His eyes are half closed, his lips parted and Liam can’t make out more than the general shape of four-letter-words in the noise coming out of Sam’s mouth.  
  
Sam’s thighs begin tensing under Liam in a familiar way and that’s when Sam opens his eyes and stops moving under him.  
  
“Down on your back, darling, spread your pretty thighs for me.”

Liam reluctantly lets Sam slip out of him and settles down on his back, legs apart but the green satin still covering him. At least, it is until Sam kneels between his legs and urges him to spread wider, pushing the fabric up out of his way before sliding his hands under Liam’s ass and lifting until he can push back inside Liam once more.  
  
It’s Liam’s turn to close his eyes because the way Sam’s looking down at him, as he begins to move long and slow, makes him feel like he’s going to come well before Sam does. Not that it’s a competition, but still.  
  
Then Sam’s fingers wrap around Liam’s cock, stroking the smooth and somewhat damp satin over his length, and Liam  _groans_ , wordless and deep.  
  
“God, you get so wet when you know I’m going to fuck you.” Sam’s voice is taut, serious, and Liam doesn’t think it’s a playful scene statement so much as a very real fact. “It’s so  _hot_  knowing I can do this to you.”  
  
“There are a lot of things you can do to me,” Liam says, his own voice low with  _wanting_.  
  
Sam leans down, as much as he can anyway given their position, and Liam lifts himself up on his elbows; they meet halfway in a long kiss.  
  
“Right now I just need to feel you come for me.” Sam nips Liam’s earlobe. “I want to know my baby mama’s getting off on this too.”  
  
Liam pulls Sam’s hand up off his cock, presses it to his chest, thumb against one peaked nipple. “Feel that, darling, they’re getting bigger already.”  
  
Sam pinches the dark peak; Liam’s cock twitches between them. “Lovely,” he murmurs. “And you were so brave showing off your belly before.”  
  
“Did you say something to Mary at lunch that made her guess?”  
  
“No, that was just Mary... although maybe she could tell just how much you want to be all pretty and plump with our baby.”  
  
Liam groans. “Fuck. Sam.”  
  
“Mmmm?”  
  
“You can—go harder.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Yes.  _Yes_.”  
  
With a couple of quick movements his chemise is pushed right up until he might as well not be wearing it, and his damn  _ankles_  are on Sam’s damn  _shoulders_ , and holy  _fuck_  Sam’s so deep Liam’s pretty sure he’ll taste it when his lover comes.  
  
“Better?”  
  
“Oh my  _fuck_ ,” Liam says, hands scrabbling at the blankets before he realizes he could have them somewhere more useful and starts playing with his nipples, rough tugs and tweaks that draw a broken moan from Sam when he sees what Liam’s up to.  
  
“I need more hands.”  
  
“No, you just need to keep fucking me through the mattress,” Liam says, which is the exact wrong thing to say because it draws Sam’s full attention to their current situation and, without the thin wall of witticisms between himself and Liam, he comes faster and harder—and louder—than apparently intended.  
  
“Damn it.”  
  
“It’s okay.”  
  
Sam gives Liam a wicked smile. “I’ll make it okay.” He pulls out carefully, but Liam still feels the spill of seed on his thighs. Sam shifts down the bed, tucking a pillow under Liam’s ass to keep it raised. Liam gives him a quizzical look, and Sam goes belly-down between Liam’s thighs.  
  
“I’m pretty sure you’re good and bred by now,” he says almost conversationally, his breath warm over Liam’s cock.  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
“So now I just need to clean up my mess.”  
  
Liam takes in Sam’s full meaning a moment too late and reaches down to stop him. “Sam, no, you don’t have to—”  
  
Sam just grabs Liam’s wrists, arresting them at his sides, and does what he set out to do.  
  
Sam’s got a lot of varied talents with his mouth. He licks Liam showily and thoroughly clean, and leaves possessive little bite marks on his thighs, and mouths at Liam’s balls until Liam’s panting and begging. Getting eaten out always makes him squirm to begin with—he can’t do it to Sam at all, Sam’s too ticklish—but that first moment of how dirty it makes him feel makes him want to pull away.  
  
Then the wrong-dirty feeling passes, and the  _right¬_ -dirty, the  _sinfully-_ -dirty, feeling takes its place. He shudders and arches into Sam’s greedy lips and tongue, letting the whimpers and moans fall from his own lips as they will. Sam responds with hungry sounds that make Liam’s cock twitch where it’s pressed against Sam’s cheek, until he decides he’s at last had enough of that particular tease and lets Liam’s cock drag along his cheek until he can mouth at the head.  
  
“Damn, girl…”  
  
If there’s meant to be an end to that sentence, or some deeper meaning, it’s lost to the way Sam takes him in, a deep practiced swallow pushing the crown of his cock against the back of Sam’s throat at the same time as Sam slips one knowing finger into Liam’s ass. Liam groans with helpless pleasure. He couldn’t move if he wanted to, he realizes; Sam’s got him as bound with desire as with any ropes or cuffs they’ve ever tried.  
  
“Sam—Sammy— _fuck_ —”  
  
Sam builds him up with knowing movements, laughing when Liam starts begging for release, and when he does finally let Liam come it’s mind-meltingly good.  
  
Liam’s brain just goes away for a bit then; he’s aware of Sam’s weight shifting on the bed, water running in the bathroom as Sam presumably brushes his teeth for the second time, and the soft languid feeling of his own body as it relaxes after the intensity of the scene, but it all seems very distant. The lace is scratchy against his skin but he ignores that, pawing the chemise back into place and scooting over so Sam can curl up beside him. He doesn’t yet have the presence of mind or the physical command of his own body to actually get  _into_  the bed and, despite Sam’s avid cleaning efforts, he knows he’s going to have to either get up sometime soon or wake up in the morning feeling rather sticky.  
  
Then Sam’s back with him, tugging the blanket that was folded across the bottom of the bed up over them and wrapping warm arms around him, and Liam decides that he’s not moving again ever.  
  
“Do we need to debrief?” Sam asks, tone all reluctant seriousness.  
  
“Not really... I mean, I wasn’t expecting any of this, and I’d love to know what brought the idea into your mind, but it’s been a lot of fun.”  
  
Sam shrugs and smiles. “I don’t really know what made me think of it. The words just happened and then I realized I was actually getting into it.” He kisses Liam’s shoulder over the chemise strap. “Thank you for indulging me.”  
  
“My pleasure.” Liam takes a proper kiss from him then, slow and soft. “Are you looking for a repeat performance?”  
  
“I think we only need one kid,” Sam promptly responds and the two of them laugh. “But I wouldn’t mind more of this if you’re up for it.” And his fingers trace the soft satin over Liam’s chest, tease lightly at his nipples through it.  
  
“The clothes, the pumping, or knowing I like to make myself pretty for you?” Liam asks, voice slipping back into the feminine pitch for a moment, and he feels more than hears the groan that rumbles from Sam’s chest.  
  
“Yes, yes,  _yes_.”  
  
There’s not a lot more to say on the topic of debriefing. They find their phones and send their nightly texts. Amy’s response to Sam’s solemn news that Liam is pregnant is  _I’m not changing another diaper in my life, but mazel tov_. Q’s response to Liam’s message that Sam is going to be a father again is,  _If you have a gender reveal party I’m disowning you both_.  
  
Eventually Liam stirs himself enough to get up and brush his teeth and make a cursory effort at cleaning up, so he’s not a complete mess in the morning.  
  
He leaves the chemise on, though. He wants to spend one last night prettied up as Sam’s wife.


End file.
